“Just a second, I’m still ‘humoring’ you. The fiction took on a life of its own. There was something in it for everyone. Endless articles in the American Journal of Theoretical Bullshit. And now no one can back down. You’re all desperate to shore up the house of cards. If it collapses, careers collapse with it.”

“Finished?”

“You asked me to explain my frustration.”

She leaned toward him and spoke softly. “David, I don’t think I’m the one who’s ‘desperate’ here.” She paused and sat back up straight as the server arrived with her Bloody Mary. When the young woman retreated to the back of the room, she continued. “I’ve worked with you before. You were always the calmest, most reasonable person in the room. The Dave Gurney I remember wouldn’t have threatened a senior FBI agent this morning. He wouldn’t be claiming that my professional opinions are bullshit. Accusing me of dishonesty and stupidity. It makes me wonder what’s really going on in your head. To be perfectly honest with you, this new Dave Gurney worries me.”

“Is that so? You think the bullet that creased my brain knocked out a few logic circuits?”

“All I’m saying is that your thought process is being driven by a bigger emotional component than it used to be. Do you disagree with that?”

“What I disagree with is your effort to make my thought process the issue when the real problem is that you and your colleagues attached your names and reputations to a crock of shit that allowed a mass murderer to escape.”

“That’s colorful, David. You know who else speaks about the case in colorful terms? Max Clinter.”

“Is that supposed to be a devastating criticism?”

She sipped her drink. “Just popped into my mind. Free association. So many similarities. Both of you seriously injured, both incapacitated for at least a month, both intensely distrustful of others, both with your official police days behind you, both obsessed with proving that the accepted view of the Good Shepherd case is wrong, both natural-born hunters who hate being marginalized.” She took another sip. “Have you ever been evaluated for PTSD?”

He stared at her. The question took him by surprise, although it shouldn’t have, not after her comparing him to Clinter. “Is that what you’re doing here? Checking off diagnostic boxes? Did you and Trout discuss my emotional stability?”

She returned the stare. “I’ve never felt this kind of hostility from you before.”

“Let me ask you something. Why did you want to meet me here?”

She blinked, looked down at the table, took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Our phone conversation the other day? It was very disturbing. Frankly, I’m concerned about you.” She picked up her Bloody Mary and drank down more than half of it.